Let Me Count the Ways
by Director99
Summary: Two-Bit Matthews likes school. Really, he does. But there sure are some things he DOESN'T like about it. And one of those things takes the cake for making Two-Bit's life a living Hell. One-shot.


**Author's Note: Hello there! Okay, so I had an idea for a Two-Bit short story including my OC Bridget. If you've read my other stories, you'll know the story behind them. But this story takes place in the early stages of "Seven Greasers", so they still hate each other at this point. **

**Now. Speaking of my other stories, I'm sure you're thinking 'Doesn't she have another story to work on?' The answer is yes, I do. Sadly, a little thing called "writer's block" has occurred. But not to fear! I promise it is only temporary, and I'm working on it right now.**

**In the meantime, enjoy the story!**

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I'll come clean and tell ya right now that I like school. I do! No lie. My gang, I don't see why they think it's so stupid. Well, Darry doesn't, but that's Darry for ya.

But, for as much as I like school, there sure as hell are some things I fucking hate about it.

For example, Socs.

Ya see, the socs will jump us out on the streets and get into bar brawls with us, but they have to be more subdued at school, if ya get my drift. So, instead of beating us up in the middle of the hallway (Side note: They actually DO beat us up at school, but they're usually pretty careful about makin' sure no teachers are around. And to be frank, it's not like us greasers are saints when it comes to brawlin' in the halls.), they play dirty. Talk behind our backs. Call the girls whores (which some are, don't get me wrong). Spit at us as we walk by. Pass us threatening notes.

Now I'm usually a pretty upbeat guy, but this sort of stuff really gets stuck under my craw. But hey, like it or lump it.

Okey doke. Enough about the super-socs. Ya know what else I hate about school? The teachers.

Ya see, I like to crack jokes. Make the grown-ups in my life crack a smile every now an' then. But the teach doesn't always appreciate my superior sense of humor.

Usually, I get sent to Old man Vernon's office, and stay after everyone else has clocked out for detention. That may be cool for some lame asses, but it isn't my idea of a swell time.

Anyway, back to the teachers. You know what else they do? Assign homework. One time, I asked what the purpose of homework was, and my world history teacher, Mr. James, said the purpose was to practice and maintain the knowledge we had obtained. I then told him that was a bunch of bull, and then-guess what-I found myself in Mr. Vernon's office. Again.

Even though I guess teachers expect you to do your homework before you come back for another visit, I hardly ever do it. At least, not very well. Sometimes, I'll have Ponyboy help me out, but I usually get way off task and end up in a poker game with Steve and Soda, or at Buck's with Dal.

Oh, and there's one more little detail I hate about my own personal Hell.

That little detail would go by the name of Bridget Stevens.

Where do I begin? For starters, she really didn't get off on the right foot with me on our first day.

It went like this:

I was sitting a couple rows from the back, smack dab in the middle of the room. A prime spot to check out the happenins' of the room. So I was sittin' there, rolling up some spit-wads, when Mr. James (remember him?) starts talking. I temporarily suspended my activity to look up at him. He was introducing a new student, named Miss Bridget Stevens. At first glance, she wasn't really anything special. Her curly black hair-which resembled the sky at around midnight-was loose. She had a dusting of freckles over her nose and cheeks. Her eyes were a bright green. Her skin was white. Your average Caucasian female.

After her introduction, I made a few jokes to break the ice, ya know? Well, then she did the unthinkable.

She told me off. In front of the whole class. She sure knew how to silence a room. Her voice sounded like she had a megaphone attached to it. Seriously, it was loud. And accusing.

And that's when I knew that I hated her with every ounce of my six-foot being.

I mean, there's a lot to hate about her. For starters, she's a soc. Well, she is now. Not when she first made herself known. She dresses like a soc, has the money, has the happy home-life, has the friends. She's the definition of a Social.

Another thing: She's a know-it-all. I mean, always raisin' her goddamn hand to answer questions. Getting A's on all the tests we have. Correcting people. She even did it to me once, the little broad.

Next item on my list... Ya know, I think it would just be easier if I did list 'em. (I apologize in advance: There will be repeats.):

-She's a soc

-She's a know-it-all

-She told me off

-She goes to shit crazy parties

-She's smart

-She has guys hangin' off her every word

-She walks around like she's Queen of the Fuckheads

-She has too much talent for her own good

-Her laugh is loud and obnoxious

The list goes on! And on, and on, and on! I honestly can't say I've ever hated a person more than HER. I can barely even say her name! Bridget. The name chills me to the bone, if ya get my drift.

Ya know, one time I was talking to this guy I know, Rocky Evans. He's a cool ol' guy, part of the Shepard gang. So, I was tellin' him 'bout Bridget, about how she annoys the shit out of me. And ya know what he said? DO YOU KNOW? Of course you don't; You're not me! Anyways, he said that obsessing over someone means you like 'em. Well, you know what I said? I said that was bullcrap. Then Rocky asked me what she looked like.

"She sounds like a real babe," he sighed after I had described her, in full detail. When it comes to women, I always remember the specifics.

"Yeah, I guess she is," I replied.

Rocky snickered.

"You're in deep, man. You're in waaaaayyyy deep," Rocky said while chuckling.

Well, I flipped him the bird and sulked off. And I'm not a sulker.

Well that's just great. Now she and all her terrible qualities are stuck in my head.

And her hair as black as midnight.

And her freckles.

And her eyes. Which are like hunks of emerald.

And her laugh, which probably isn't any more obnoxious than mine. (Mine is quite obnoxious. But hey, it is what it is.)

And how she's so smart...

Oh fuck. Oh, fuck you Rocky Evans. Fuck you to hell.

Why'd you have to be right?

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**A/N: There it is! Something to tide ya over. I know it wasn't too long, but I'll have the "Desperadoes" update soon. Promise!**


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